


the slow dance of the infinite stars

by straddling_the_atmosphere



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stardust, Amputation, Canon-Typical Violence, Ensemble Cast, Flint's terrible mouth, Gen, M/M, Madi/Eme, Mild Sexual Content, Romantic Comedy, Slow Burn, flint is the grumpiest star in the GALAXY, implied Max/Anne, john silver in a bun like we deserved, john silver's tiny pierced ears, some hinted past Thomas/Flint and Thomas/Miranda/Flint sort of, you shit as a term of endearment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-11 06:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13518171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straddling_the_atmosphere/pseuds/straddling_the_atmosphere
Summary: “Ah, yes,” Flint says with a sneer. “What a perfect gift. A chained man.”Silver tugs on the chain and Flint stumbles forward, wincing when his weight lands on his ankle.“You are awfully grumpy for a star,” Silver says. “What’s your name?”“A minute ago you thought stars were a lump of rock,” Flint grumbles. “And it’s Flint.”-aka the stardust au no one asked for





	1. what do stars do?

**Author's Note:**

> me, queuing up stardust on my netflix
> 
> the nsa agent watching my computer: for fuck's sake, this is the 6th time this week

_A philosopher once asked, "Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?" Pointless, really..."Do the stars gaze back?" Now, that's a question.”  - Neil Gaiman,_ Stardust

* * *

Inside a kingdom in a land faraway, there was a boy too curious for his own good. He grew up in a small town near a wall, you see, and that wall was guarded day and night so nobody could cross.

He was a clever boy, and he snuck through an opening in the wall. It was on the other side that he found a bustling town, filled with vibrant color and bright people and a girl so beautiful, with eyes so blue that he found himself drowning.

She was chained, this girl, to an old wizard with a long grey beard, and when he left she gave the boy a white flower, then took his hand with a soft, sad smile, drew him into her cage, and closed the door behind them.

The boy went home after that, crossed the wall and settled in his life there, but nine months later, there was a knock on his door. There stood the wall guard, with a basket on his arm and a curly haired baby sleeping peacefully.

Thus begins the story of John Silver.

* * *

Twenty three years later, John Silver sits out under the stars, gazing at the woman next to him, the candlelight casting a warm glow to her cheeks and eyes.

“Madi,” he says, content with wine and food in his belly. “What will it take for you to marry me?”

Madi sips her wine, eyes glittering. “You think you have something to offer?” she asks, teasing.

“I have nothing to offer,” he says honestly. “But I want to marry you, and I would go to the ends of the earth to do so.”

Madi sighs, something in her face softening. “John,” she says, reaching out to touch his cheek. “I can’t marry you.”

He frowns, his hand coming up to cup hers. “Is this because of Julius--”

“No,” she says firmly, then hesitates. “Well, a bit, yes. But not for the reasons you think.”

“Then, I don’t understand.”

Madi runs her thumb along his cheekbone. “I am a woman in this world,” she says, something sad in her eyes. “And Julius is approved. My mother likes him.”

“She hates me,” he mutters and she smiles fondly.

“She does,” she agrees and Silver presses a kiss to her palm. A streak of light illuminates the night sky and they both look up, watching as it hurtles out into the distance and then disappears.

“Make a wish, John Silver,” Madi murmurs, glancing at him, and Silver’s eyes gleam.

“What if I could bring it to you?”

Madi tilts her head, watching him.

“The star,” Silver says insistently. “If I could bring you a fallen star, surely your mother could not say no then.”

“How are you going to bring me a star, John?” Madi asks, amused.

“I’ll cross the wall if I have to.”

“Nobody crosses the wall.”

“I will.”

Madi drops her hand from his face and gazes at him, her eyes dark and knowing. “Sure,” she says indulgently. “If you bring me the star by my birthday, I’ll consider marrying you.”

In John Silver, hope blooms.

* * *

In the land of Nassau beyond the wall, there is a king. The king has many sons and one daughter, and they gather around him today.

“Dufresne,” the king says, frowning. “Where is your sister?”

“We haven’t seen Idelle in years, father,” he says. At the king’s look his face twitches, glasses sliding slightly forward as he glares. “Why would I kill her? The kingdom is determined by sons.”

The king grunts and he looks up. “Well,” he says, tugging at the ruby necklace around his neck. “Get on with it.”

See, the king had many sons, and it didn’t go to the eldest, as in most kingdoms. It went to the son that survived. Dufresne slew all his brothers and looked at his father afterward, eyes glinting.

“There is one more task for you, son,” his father says, taking off his necklace. It floats in the air, suspended, the ruby rich and dark like wine. It shoots out of the window and flies into the night sky. “You must find that stone. Only a true king could seek something lost and reclaim its purity.”

Dufresne watches it disappear into the horizon, a flash of white streaking through the air in its echo, and he frowns.

* * *

In a crater, far from the castle of the king, a man wakes, swearing. His hair gleams copper and his skin seems to glow in the light of the moon, dotted with ruby constellations. A green, shimmering shirt covers his torso, and soft cream-colored pants clothe his strong thighs, the delicate arches of his feet bare and vulnerable against the charred soil. He rubs his chest as he sits up, squinting around him. A necklace sits innocuously near his foot and he reaches for it, tracing his fingers over the inlaid stone. He puts it on, letting it rest heavily on his chest, then sits back to look at the sky with a sigh.

God _dammit._

* * *

Silver wonders if the place beyond the wall is as empty and terrifying as it seems, if it is just one long field that spans onward into the ether, if this journey of his will end in his death. He moves through the house that he has grown up in, touching the smooth wood of the cabinets, the coolness of the brick. He goes to the room that used to be his father’s, a man he hardly got a chance to know before he’d passed on, and he sits on the bed. He frowns when a floorboard moves under his feet and crouches down, picking at it until it comes loose.

There, under the floor of the house, is a blanket and a letter.

_My dear John,_

_I wish I could be there to see you grow. I live in chains that can’t be broken, a piece which your father has, and my master would not let me keep you. If you ever wish to see me, I find that the fastest way to travel is by candlelight. Just hold it, and think of me._

_All my love,  
Your mother_

Silver swallows, tracing the words with his fingers, before opening up the blanket. Nestled inside is a silver chain, a white flower, and a black candle, the wax heavy and thick under his fingers. He finds a match and lights it, the glow making his eyes look a feverish blue, and he grips the candle in his hand.

_Mother, mother, mother, mother, Madi, star--_

* * *

A star shooting across the sky for some is just an event of the heavens. It’s simply something fleeting and beautiful to look at, perhaps to make a wish on if you so desire.

For some, it is The Moment. For John Silver, it was that, the moment he realized he had something within his grasp, something he could give to his great love to perhaps win her hand.

For Woodes Rogers, it is a new life. It is the manifestation of every desire he’s ever wanted or needed. “Brother, the time has come at last,” he announces and another other man blinks at him, all rheumy eyes and arthritic hands. “A star has fallen in Nassau.”

He grins, half his teeth gone, gummy and empty.

“You’ll be needing what’s left of the last star,” Berringer says after a moment and Woodes Rogers opens the box. He frowns.

“There’s not much left,” he says, remembering the golden-haired, blue-eyed star of before, with his long legs and strong shoulders.

“Soon, there will be enough for us both,” Berringer says and Rogers feels a rush of excitement, wondering what this one will look like.

This star will be _his_.

* * *

“Ow-- _fuck_ ,” Flint says, staring up at the boy who has appeared from out of nowhere and landed on top of him. The boy scrambles up, staring down at him with wide blue eyes.

“Who the hell--” He grunts when Flint shoves him back, glaring at him. Silver sits back and looks around, eyes widening at the huge crater they’re in. “Sorry, sir,” he says. “I’m John Silver.” He stares at the charred earth surrounding them. “This might sound a little--uh. Well. Have you happened to see a star?”

Flint huffs. “Oh, very funny,” he sneers. Silver’s face creases into confusion.

“No, I’m serious. We’re in a crater! This must be where it fell!”

“Yes,” Flint says slowly, like Silver is stupid. “This is where it fell. It got knocked out of the sky by a bloody necklace, and fell right here, where it was then rudely attacked by a flying _boy_.”

Silver blinks at him. “ _You’re_ the star?”

“Of course I’m the bloody star! What did you think a star would look like?”

“A...rock?”

Flint snorts derisively. “No.”

Silver opens his mouth and then closes it, quirking it. “Well, I apologize for this in advance,” he says and curls the unbreakable chain around Flint’s wrist.

“What the fuck, you little shit,” Flint snarls and tries to jerk away, but the chain holds. He looks at Silver with blazing green eyes and Silver swallows, taking a step back.

“I said I was sorry! It’s just--you see--I promised you to Madi. To my fiance.” Soon to be fiance, anyway, Silver thinks, eyeing the star warily. His hair gleams red like wildfire and his bared teeth glint white as bone.

“Ah, yes,” Flint says with a sneer. “What a perfect gift. A chained man.”

Silver tugs on the chain and Flint stumbles forward, wincing when his weight lands on his ankle.

“You are awfully grumpy for a star,” Silver says. “What’s your name?”

“A minute ago you thought stars were a lump of rock,” Flint grumbles. “And it’s Flint.”

“Flint,” Silver says. “That’s it?”

“What else would it be?”

Silver shrugs and pulls him along. “Come on,” he says. “I’ll let you go home as soon as I take you to her.”

“And how the fuck will I go home, then?” Flint asks, limping behind him. Silver grins, wide and toothy.

“I’ve always found that the fastest travel is by candelight,” he says, and he opens his palm.

Flint leans forward. “That’s the end of a Babylon candle,” he says. “Barely enough for one trip.”

Silver scowls. “It’s still better than nothing.” Flint watches him for a long moment and Silver tries not to squirm under those unsettling sharp eyes.

“Fine,” Flint says after a long moment. “I suppose I have no real choice.”

Silver gives him a cheerful smile. “That’s the spirit,” he says. “Who knows--we might even be friends at the end.”

Flint bares his teeth in a terrifying facsimile of a grin. Silver feels a tendril of fear curl up at the base of his spine. “Sure,” Flint says. “We’ll go with that.”

* * *

“Don’t you ever sleep?” Silver asks, rolling over in the grass to look at Flint, who’s biting at the chain around his wrist.

“Not at night,” _you idiot_ , is implied.

“Why not?”

“I’m a star. At night we tend to, you know, do our jobs,” Flint says, making a frustrated noise at the chain.

“Well, you’re not in the sky anymore, if you haven’t noticed,” Silver says, shoving his face into his jacket. “So shining is suspended until further notice. And sleeping during the day is out. That’s when we’re walking.”

Flint sneers, baring his teeth at him. “I’m not walking with you anywhere.”

“I thought we’d made a deal!”

“Rather one-sided, wasn’t it? Seeing as you have me in _chains_.”

Silver scowls, sitting up, his hair in messy tufts on the top of his head. “I said I’d give you the candle, didn’t I?”

Flint is quiet for a long moment, then glares. “Fine.”

“Good,” Silver says, standing up. He jerks on the chain and Flint pulls back, jaw clenching, and Silver stares at him. After a long moment, Flint gets up with a sigh, face tight with pain as he puts weight on his ankle.

Silver frowns. “What happened to you?”

“I fell from the sky,” Flint says, deadpan. “They don’t teach stars how to land on their feet, considering we usually don’t have any.”

“Oh.” Silver furrows his brows, but after that, he makes sure to walk more slowly.

* * *

Rogers stares at a goat. The goat stares back, chewing on a piece of grass.

“How much for your goat?” he asks the tall boy in front of him. “Billy, was it?”

Billy blinks at him, then looks at Rogers’s cart. “He’s not big enough to pull that.”

Rogers frowns, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He revels at his fine, young skin and full set of teeth for a moment. “You’re right,” he says, then snaps his fingers. Where Billy was, now stands a slightly larger than normal brown goat, who blinks up at Rogers and bleats angrily.

Rogers smirks.

* * *

The goats are tiring by the time Rogers notices a small yellow caravan not far away. He sees a man sitting there, grey-bearded and aged, and recognizes him for what he is.

“Good afternoon,” Rogers says politely as he steps off the carriage. The man squints at him, fingers tightening around his knife. “I am one of you, and I swear by the ordinances of the brotherhood to which we both belong that I mean you no harm on this day. I wish to share your meal.”

The man blinks and leans back. “One can never be too careful,” he says lightly. “I am Hornigold. Sit.” He flicks his finger and the bluebird on his carriage door transforms into a dark-haired woman with angry eyes, who brings a stool over before he turns her back into a bluebird.  
“Would you like the head, or the tail?”

“The head.”

As they sit and eat, Hornigold watches Rogers. “So, stranger, where are you heading off to on this fine day?”

Rogers hums, chewing on a piece of meat. “I seek a fallen star,” he says, closing his eyes. “He fell not far from here. I can sense him. And when I find him, I’m going to cut out his heart and eat it, and the beauty from our youth shall be restored.” He frowns, then stares at his food, smelling it for traces of the fragrant reed he’s beginning to suspect.

“What I could do with a star,” Hornigold muses and Rogers feels a mounting fury inside of him as he stands

“How dare you,” he says, voice low and controlled. “How dare you spell truth from me? Do you know who I am?”

Hornigold scrambles back, eyes widening at the power that spills from Rogers's frame, his young, smooth face. His eyes betray his age, ancient and filled with green, poisonous fire. Hornigold falls to his knees.

“I won’t seek the star, your eminence-- _please_.”

“Seek all you wish,” Rogers sneers and his words hold a weighty power. “But you shall not see the star, touch it, smell or hear it. No matter how much you try or how close he is.” Rogers drops his hands, staring at Hornigold’s crumpled pathetic form with a disgusted curl of his lips.

“You had better pray you never meet me again, Hornigold,” he says, then walks away.

* * *

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Flint asks, stumbling behind Silver. “We’ve been wandering the same dirt path for hours.”

“We’re going the right way,” Silver says crossly. “I don’t know how I know, but I do. Maybe it’s my love for Madi guiding my way.”

“Yes, Madi, you’ve mentioned,” Flint says impatiently. “The woman who wants a chained man.”

Silver flushes. “She does not--she wants a star.”

“Who happens to be a man. Are you telling me that changes nothing? And will you slow down?” Flint snaps, his face twisting in pain.

Silver scowls and stops. “Listen,” he says. “We’re going North, which you can tell because of the evening star which--huh.” He stares up at the sky, mouth parted.

“Hilarious,” Flint says dryly, limping over to a tree, his knees crumpling under his body as he sits.

“What--that was you? Really? Wait--what are you doing?” Silver watches Flint lean against the tree, desperately trying not to notice as a drop of sweat slides down his jaw and onto his neck, resting in the hollow of his throat. It’s not fair that he has so many freckles, Silver thinks helplessly, looking away. “I told you, we don’t have time for you to sleep during the day.”

Flint closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the smooth bark. “I just need to rest,” he says. Silver watches him for a moment.

“You know,” he says. “There used to be another star that would guide us home. The morning star, our town called it. It disappeared years ago, before I was born.”

Flint says nothing for awhile, his lips curving down. “That was Thomas.”

Silver holds his breath for a moment, but Flint doesn’t say anything else. Silver exhales. “Fine,” he says. “You sleep. I’ll find us something to eat.”

Flint grunts and then slits his eyes open when he feels a small tug on his wrist. “What’re you doing?” he asks grumpily, watching as Silver walks around the tree and snaps the two ends of the chain together.

“Making sure you don’t run away.”

Flint huffs and closes his eyes again, the sun beating hot on his face as he drifts off.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when he opens his eyes, but it’s dark now, the stars glittering above the sky. He looks up at them wistfully, heart clenching in his chest. _Miranda_ , he thinks, then he jerks his head, the leaves rustling nearby.

“Who’s there?” He calls, jerking against the chain. He bares his teeth, muscles tensing. “Show yourself, damn you,” he snaps. “ _Silver_.”

A twig snaps and he opens his mouth and then closes it with a click, eyes widening when the pearled horn of a unicorn appears, then the head follows, gentle dark eyes and powerful legs trotting up to him.

“Hello,” he says, bewildered, and the unicorn snorts and paws at the ground, then bends down to touch its horn to the chain. It disappears like it was never there. “Oh. Thank you.” He lets the unicorn sniff at his hair and he reaches up to run his fingers down that graceful neck. For the first time since he’s fallen, he smiles.

* * *

Rogers stands just off the side of a well-worn dirt path, staring at the empty grassy field in front of him. He frowns and twists his ring, and sees his brother, squinting at him with those half blind eyes.

“You’re beginning to look a bit aged,” Berringer remarks, and Rogers scowls. “The star is on his way to you, but he’s drained. You’ll have to engineer a plan to make him shine again before you cut into him.”

An idea begins to take shape in his mind and he looks at the goats and carriage. “Soon,” he says to his brother. “We will all be young again.” And he twists his ring to shut off the connection.

* * *

“Flint! Flint!” Silver calls, stumbling into the forest. He looks at the empty tree with wide eyes and groans. “John,” he mutters as he sits down, leaning against the trunk. “You fucking idiot.” He gazes up at the sky, at the dark space where Flint used to shine, then shifts his eyes over to the moon, sighing. He tries not to wonder if the warmth from the tree is from Flint’s back, remembering the way the sun made Flint’s hair shine copper and gold. He closes his eyes and imagines Madi’s face, her warm brown eyes and her soft smile, but then it morphs halfway into dark auburn stubble and a constellation of freckles, and he falls into a restless sleep.

His dreams are troubled and dark--a flash of golden hair and bright blue eyes, a warm smiling mouth, and a voice whispering softly in his ear. _Flint is in grave danger, John Silver_ , the voice says. _You have to find him and save him or he will become like the other. He will become like my Thomas--our Thomas, who was the last to fall, 400 years ago._

He sees clouds and a burst of light, so bright it nearly burns behind his eyelids, then that same golden hair from earlier in the dream, those same blue eyes.

 _He was captured by the same wizards who will find Flint,_ the voice says, gentle and urgent. _They fed him and cared for him and loved him._ Silver sees the man’s-- _Thomas’s_ \--strong shoulders as someone washes him down, and his skin shines brightly, his laughter ringing delighted and sweet.

 _And then they cut his heart from his chest,_ the woman’s voice snarls in that same angry, soft tone, and Silver flinches at Thomas’s scream and the way the light goes out on his skin. _Help Flint, before he’s next, Silver_. _There’s a coach coming and you must get on it, by any means possible. Now, John Silver!_

Silver wakes with a gasp and jumps to his feet, heart racing, and runs, the sight of a black carriage blindsiding him and knocking him to the ground.

He groans and rubs his head, staring dazedly up at a man with a round, pasty face and horn-rimmed glasses.

“Oh, hello,” he says and then winces when the man grips his shoulders.

“Who sent you?” he hisses and Silver squeezes his eyes shut, head pounding.

“No one,” he says. “Could I perhaps bother you for a ride?” He blinks at him, trying his best to look pathetic. “You see, I think that fate has brought us together. And I think we will be very lucky for each other indeed.”

Dufresne lets go of him and sighs. “Fine,” he says. “Get in.”

* * *

“He was a shit,” Flint says, absently twisting the unicorn’s silver mane in his fingers, wincing a bit whenever his ankle hits the side of its stomach. “But he did promise me that candle bit.”

The unicorn snorts, tossing its forelock and Flint huffs. “What kind of person would want a chained man as an engagement gift?” he complains. “If this Madi is as perfect as he claims, one would only hope that she’d want him to let me go.”

“And--” Flint feels a drop of water on his nose and he scowls, staring up at the sky. “And now it’s fucking raining, of course.” There’s another snort from the unicorn and Flint pats its neck. “Well, onward then, I suppose.”

They plod along, Flint blinking rapidly to try to see in the rain, his legs growing slippery against the unicorn’s sides. His thighs and lower back ache from holding the position for so long and his eyes begin to droop before jerking back open again, a yawn cracking his mouth open.

A sign catches his eyes and he nudges the animal under him faster, the blurred lantern light growing brighter as he moves towards it, and he breathes in relief when he sees an inn. Once there, he slides off the unicorn, biting back a gasp at the sharp pain in his ankle, unclenching his fingers from the unicorn’s mane. It nudges his back with its nose, making a soft noise, and Flint pats it soothingly, then walks up to the door and knocks.

A man opens it, fairly innocuous looking, though there’s a faint scar running down the side of his face. “Come in,” he says, frowning in concern. “Get out of the rain. We’ve something hot on the stove and a warm bath for travellers. My name is Woodes Rogers.”

Flint glances at the unicorn for a moment, then steps inside, wary, and doesn’t see the assessing look Rogers gives to his back. “The bath’s in the back room,” he says. “Billy can show you.”

Billy is a tall, young man with a placid face who takes his coat and helps him to the other room. “You’ll have privacy here,” he says, and his voice is--there’s something off about it, something stilted, but the pain in Flint’s foot keeps him from thinking too clearly, and the chill that has started to set in his bones distracts him. These human bodies are horrendously inconvenient, he thinks grumpily, but he steps into the bath readily enough, sighing as the heat begins to settle on his skin. There’s something rejuvenating in it--and even the wound in his ankle begins to dissipate, the bones shifting just slightly for him to gasp as they correct themselves.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he grunts, tipping his head back against the rim of the bathtub, his whole body relaxing. His skin seems to shimmer under the candlelight, just the faintest bit.

“How are you feeling?” Rogers calls and Flint opens his eyes, just barely.

“Fine,” he says with a yawn. His eyes widen when Rogers comes in and he frowns, sitting up. He is trying to think of a polite way to tell the innkeeper to fuck off when Rogers moves closer.

“Your leg, how is it?” he asks, kneeling down to touch the water. Flint jerks his leg back after he feels Rogers’ fingers, barely refraining from shoving him away. The pain has completely disappeared, and he looks down at his ankle, a little startled.

“...Better,” he says after a moment. Rogers stands up and Flint relaxes when he begins to leave.

“We’ve a bed just made for you in the top room,” he says. “Billy will show you there when you’re done.”

Flint nods and watches him go, the hair on the back of his neck standing up in alarm. As soon as he’s gone he steps out of the bath, grabbing the robe Billy had left and wrapping it around himself. His ankle feels fine, and walking is a relief on it, no pain when he puts his weight on the ball or heel. He’s exhausted again, head and eyelids heavy, so he goes to the room Rogers had indicated on the top floor, biting back a sigh when he sees Rogers there, making the bed.

“I’m only a simple innkeeper,” Rogers says and Flint eyes him like a cornered animal, moving away when he comes too close. “But I’ve been told I’ve good hands, and a massage works wonders for travellers unused to horse back.”

Flint thinks of Rogers’ hands on him and his skin crawls. “No,” he says. “I’d rather not.” Something flashes in Rogers’ eyes and he touches Flint’s shoulder and Flint shifts to grab his wrist, squeezing tightly. “I _said_ ,” he murmurs, nails digging into Rogers’ skin. “I’d rather you not.” He can feel Rogers’ heart beating rapidly at the pulse point on his wrist and Flint lets go, watching him step back with a chuckle.

“Alright,” Rogers says lightly. “As you wish.”

Suddenly, there’s a loud knock on the door and Flint watches a series of expressions cross over Rogers’ face--annoyance, frustration and a bone-deep fury that chills Flint, has him pull his robe tighter over his chest.

“I’ll be right back with food as soon as I take care of this customer,” he says, and he disappears out the door.

* * *

“Should we try a different inn?” Silver yells over the rain. “The runes say the necklace is nearby, but it could be another one?”

“Let me try one more time!” Dufresne yells back and knocks louder. The door suddenly opens and he steps inside. “Hello?” he calls, sounding annoyed, then turns to Silver. “Go take the horses into the stable. This service is rubbish.” He spots the steaming bath and he thinks about it before moving to the bar area. “Hello?” he calls again.

Flint makes his way downstairs, following the sound of the voice.

“Oh, hello,” Dufresne says, spotting him. “I’m accustomed to better service, but you’re awake now so that’s what counts.”

Flint tilts his head to the side, watching him quietly.

“Please make your best room for me tonight.”

“I’ll thank you not to bother my guest,” Rogers says sharply and he comes in, carrying a glass of wine. “Some wine?”

Dufresne is tempted for a long moment but shakes his head. “No,” he says and Rogers clenches his jaw but gives it to Billy. “But my friend in the stables might like a drop.”

“Go give it to the stable boy,” Rogers says and Billy disappears out the door.

“Your best room, perhaps?” Dufresne says and Rogers gives him an unpleasant smile.

“Of course,” he says, disappearing back up the stairs.

“I’m sorry I assumed,” Dufresne says to Flint, who continues to watch him silently. “I only thought--” He stops and narrows his eyes at the necklace around Flint’s throat. “I wonder...where did you get that?”

Flint grips the necklace tightly, not moving an inch.

* * *

In the stables, Silver pets the restless stallions, doing his best to dry them off, and he wonders where Flint is and how he’s supposed to help him. The door opens and Billy walks in and Silver gapes up at him.

“My gods, you’re gigantic,” he says and Billy snorts, but hands him the wine. “Thank you! What’s your name?”

“Billy,” is all he says, and he heads back out. Silver furrows his brows at Billy’s short tone and goes to drink the wine when a loud neigh interrupts him, a stall door flying off its hinges.

“Jesus Christ,” Silver says faintly when he sees the unicorn, who shoves the wine glass out of Silver’s hand with its nose. Silver’s eyes widen when he sees steam hissing off the straw. “Where is he?” he asks, looking at the unicorn, who whinnies again and gallops outside of the stable, Silver running after it.

* * *

“Come closer,” Dufresne says again, more forcefully and Flint narrows his eyes. “Do you know who I am? That necklace belongs to the royal family. I am Dufresne, son of the Nassau king bloodline, and I am telling you to come here and give me the stone!”

“Are all humans so fucking chatty,” Flint says with a huff, stepping back. “Or have I just been lucky enough to be exposed to three of the chattiest?”

Silver bursts through the door, all wet curls and wide eyes. “Dufresne, don’t drink anything--the wine was poisoned-- _Flint?”_

In that instant, Rogers comes down with a knife and Dufresne twists away with a yell, then makes a break for it, managing to disappear out the door before Rogers can get to him.

“Flint!” Silver yells, running to him. “Are you alright?”

Flint takes in the bruise on Silver’s jaw and his wet shivering. “Are  _you?”_

“Billy!” Rogers snaps. “Take care of the damn horse!”

“I don’t fucking think so,” he says, and dives out of the way as the unicorn charges in, heading straight for Rogers, who jumps back and shoots out a green flame. Flint tries to step forward as the unicorn screams, rearing up on its hind legs and lashing out with its hooves, and Silver grabs his wrist, pulling him back.

“It’s too late,” Silver says over the noise and Flint lets Silver pull him to the exit, but Rogers snarls and covers that with the green flame. Rogers looks older now, his eyes wild and feral, the scar on his face a brilliant purple.

“The heart of a star at peace is the best kind of delicacy,” he says, stalking forward. “But even still, a frightened heart is better than no heart at all.”

“Any other brilliant ideas?” Flint asks testily, eyeing the gleaming knife in Rogers's hand, and Silver shoves him back against the corner, then grabs the candle from his pocket.

“Flint.” Silver sounds terrified. “Hold me tight and think of home.”

Flint hears Silver yell and he grips him hard, nails digging into his shoulders as pain lances through his body and white-hot light overwhelms them until there is nothing.

In the nothing, there is quiet, all encompassing and peaceful, like the times when Flint used to sleep during the day time, before he ever had a human body, when time was as meaningless as the seasons, as rain and storm and heat and cold.

Then, there is rain, heavy and cold on his skin, and thunder so loud that Flint’s sensitive ears ache.

He opens his eyes, staring right into Silver’s wide blue ones, and he shoves him, fiercely and desperately furious.

“Think of home?” Flint snarls. “Great plan, Silver. You thought of your home and I thought of mine and now we’re halfway between the two!”

“You fucking idiot,” Silver snaps back hotly. “Why the fuck would we think of your home?”

“Well, then, you should have been more specific,” Flint says snidely. “If you wanted me to think of your home, then you should’ve damn well said so!”

“Some crazy man was going to cut your heart out--forgive me for not being more specific in my instructions. Did you want it in writing? Or a diagram, maybe?!”

Flint opens his mouth to answer when a net appears, trapping them together and transporting them to the deck of a ship.

“Lookit this, Captain Rackham!” A man yells. “We caught ourselves a little bonus. Lightning Marshalls.”

A thin, tall man with wild hair and absurd sideburns squints at them. “They don’t look like Lightning Marshalls to me.”

“What the fuck else could they be, stuck up here in the middle of a storm?” A woman with long red hair says, filing her nails with a knife.

“For the same reason we are, Anne, darling,” Captain Rackham says. “Who the hell are you?”

Flint and Silver don’t answer, and Silver’s hand finds Flint’s in the cold, those long fingers curling around Flint’s. Flint grips them tightly.

Captain Rackham frowns. “Hmm. Let’s see if a night on our lovely brig will loosen those lips, shall we? Throw them into the brig, Anne.”

“You heard ‘im,” she says.

* * *

“I think they’re going to kill us,” Silver says, desperately trying to ignore the heat of Flint’s skin under the bathrobe with the way they’re trapped together, back to back.

“They might not,” Flint says after a moment, clearly not believing it. Silver snorts and Flint sighs. “Some adventure this has turned out to be.”

“Since when do you want adventure?” Silver asks. “All you do is yell at me.”

Flint is quiet for a moment. “I used to watch people having adventures.” Silver stays silent. “Miranda and Thomas and I--” He swallows. “We used to envy them.” Silver remembers the golden-haired man from his dreams, his pained cry when the knife sliced down. The woman whispering to him must have been Miranda.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

Flint shifts, rolling his wrists absently. “Thank you.”

Silver’s lips quirk. “You ever heard the expression, ‘Be careful what you wish for?’”

Flint exhales sharply. “So getting my heart cut out serves me right, does it--and _Thomas_ getting his--” His throat clicks and Silver makes a quiet sound.

“That’s not what I meant--I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “Truth is--I admire that. I’m just a poor boy, Flint. I could never have dreamed an adventure this big.” Silver blinks back hot liquid and bites his lip. “I just thought I’d find some lump of celestial rock, and I’d go home, and that would be it.”

“And you got me,” Flint says wryly. Silver’s wet laugh makes Flint’s chest clench.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years of watching Earth,” Flint says. “Is that people aren’t what they seem. There’s adventurers, and liars, and tricksters, and boys who happen to just be good at all of those. There are poor boys, and there are boys who happen to be waiting for the right moment. That’s what you are, Silver. You’re the best of them.”

Silver swallows around the lump in his throat and closes his eyes, letting one tear slide down his cheek. “Fuck, Flint,” he says, voice raw and the corner of Flint’s mouth curves up in a small smile, his hand twisting in the manacles so he can hold Silver’s fingers and squeeze them, their palms pressed together.

* * *

Dufresne pulls himself out of the wreckage of the inn, just in time to see a silver tail disappearing into the trees. One of his men, who’d spent the night in the carriage, has Billy by the throat.

“Sir,” he says. “Found this one loitering outside."

“You,” Dufresne sneers. “Tell me what the fuck just happened inside there.”

Billy tips his head back away from the knife. “You interrupted a wizard from getting to the star, is what.”

“What star?” Dufresne says exasperatedly.

“Ginger bloke, with the necklace. He was goin’ to cut out his heart and eat it or something. You’re lucky you got away at all, if you don’t pardon me saying so.”

Dufresne stares at him. “Eat it?” He stares at the carriage for a long moment. “My God. Do you have any idea what this means?”

Billy just stares at him.

“Everlasting life. I can be king _forever._ ” He glances at Billy then at his man. “Put him in the carriage. He’s coming with us.”

* * *

“Where _is he?_ ” Rogers snaps and Berringer bristles.

“It’s the same answer every time. He’s airbone.”

“He can’t stay like that forever!”

“You seem a bit stressed, brother,” Berringer says. “Why don’t you switch with me for a bit? You’ve gone and broken the knife anyhow, so what will you cut the heart out with?”

“Don’t be a fool,” Rogers replies, baring his teeth. “I will bring him to the house and we can perform the ceremony. Get it ready for me, brother. I will be home soon.”

* * *

“Tell me about Madi, then,” Flint says, watching the light of the sun appear in the small window on the brig.

“Well,” Silver says, then stops, frowning quietly. He knows she’s kind and warm, that she’s generous with her time. That she’s a dear friend, not just the love of his life. But he doesn’t know her friends or her favorite color, or the way she takes her tea. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

Flint is quiet. “I don’t know much about love,” he says after a moment. “But the little I know says it’s supposed to be unconditional. You’re not supposed to be able to buy it.”

Silver bristles immediately. “This wasn’t about that!”

“No?”

“No, it was just.” Silver hesitates. “Her mother hates me and wouldn’t let us get married. I thought, if I brought back a star, I could win her over.”

“Does Madi want to get married to you?” Flint asks.

“Well, she never said in those exact words, but there’s Julius! And--”

“Does she want to marry Julius?”

“...She never said that either.”

Flint breathes softly. “Perhaps she doesn’t want to marry either of you. Maybe she loves someone else.”

“I know everyone in that town,” he says.

“Do you?” Flint’s voice is soft. “You just told me you know nothing of Madi’s friends, or family.”

Silver makes a soft sound. “But--I…I.” He trails off, unable to say anything to that.

“I suppose I’ll just have to meet her,” Flint murmurs and Silver sighs.

“I suppose you will.”

* * *

“The sky vessel will be docking at the port town on Mount Nassau,” Berringer says. “And, you aren’t the only one searching for the star.”

“Who else? A witch? A warlock?” Roger asks, pacing restlessly.

“A prince. And he’s catching you up so you had better hurry.”

Rogers snaps the whip at his horses, spurring them on faster.

On the same trail, further behind, gallops Dufresne and his men, Billy unwillingly with them. It’s a race against time, as they each push their horses faster and faster, time that’s running out for both wizard and prince.

* * *

Captain Rackham walks along the brig, watching Flint and Silver. “So,” he says. “This is the part where you tell me why you’re up here and who you are.” He kneels down, grinning. “Or I’ll break every bone in that one’s hands,” he says to Silver, nodding to Flint. Flint snarls and Silver chokes on a laugh.

“Good luck,” he says. “He’ll sooner just bite you.”

Outside the brig, Anne and the men lean against the door to listen in. Another woman slouches behind them, absently listening as well.

Rackham hums thoughtfully. “Perhaps I’ll break yours then,” he says. “This one seems a bit upset at that.” Flint snaps his teeth at Rackham when he gets too close and Rackham flinches away.

Silver chuckles nervously. “I wouldn’t do that,” he says. “I have an exceedingly low tolerance for pain. I’ll say anything to make it stop.”

“Stop fucking around and tell me who you are,” Rackham snaps and outside, the men laugh. Anne and the other woman exchange looks.

“My name is John Silver,” he says quickly. “And this is my--my cousin Flint.”

“Cousin?” Rackham says disbelievingly. “You don’t look anything alike.” Silver closes his eyes tightly.

“Please,” he says haltingly. “Don’t do anything.”

Rackham snaps his fingers in front of Silver’s face. “You may think you’re showing some spirit in front of your little guard dog, but I could cut that insolent tongue right out of your mouth.”

Silver swallows. “Sorry, sir.”

“Better,” Rackham says. “But still interrupting.” He walks around the two of them. “Let’s see. This one we can use,” he says, nodding to Flint. “Strong and vicious as he is. But you--hmm. A hanging is always good for morale. Or perhaps walking the plank. Or, I could just tip you over the side right here and be done with it!” He smiles nastily at Silver. “It’s a very long way down.”

“We’re just trying to get home,” Silver says quickly. “Back to Wall.”

Rackham goes very still. “What did you say? Back to Wall?”

Silver nods, eyes wide and Rackham moves so quickly that Silver gasps, a knife at his throat. Flint makes a low, feral noise, tossing his head back to try to see what’s going on.

“That’s one lie too many, my friend,” Rackham hisses. “And this insubordination cannot stand. You think you could live to tell the tale after lying to my face? A rather large mistake on your part, Mr. Silver. And it will be the last one you’ll ever make.”

“It’s happening,” one of the crew whispers from outside, and they run to the rail, looking over just as a body falls out of the window.

Flint is a writhing, angry thing when Rackham drags him out by the hair, snarling swears at him, teeth bared and evergreen eyes flashing like the most dangerous of jewels, the kind kept under lock and guard.

“Nobody is to disturb me while I break this one,” Rackham says to Anne. “And we’ll either have a new crew member by the end, or he’ll get the same treatment as the other.”

Anne arches an eyebrow but nods, then yells at the rest of them to scatter and get back to fucking work.

Flint goes limp as soon as he sees Silver leaning against one of the window’s of the captain’s cabin.

He huffs. “I hope you know I could’ve fucking taken you,” he says to Rackham, who sighs.

“Yes, yes, you’re very strong,” he says impatiently and claps his hands. “Well, that went rather well, I think. Now, tell me news of England.”

“Hang on,” Silver says, sitting at the table. Flint trails his eyes over his face like he needs to confirm he’s there, cheeks flushed and _alive_ , before he slumps back in his seat as well. “I can’t believe your crew actually fell for that. And where in god’s name did you get that mannequin from?”

“Oh, darling,” Rackham says. “An ounce of manipulation, a bit of trickery, smoke behind mirrors, and voila. The perfect recipe for a towering reputation without ever having to spill a drop of blood.” He sighs aggravatedly. “Have you ever had to clean blood from a silk shirt? Goddamned nightmare.”

“Right,” Silver says slowly. “I still don’t understand how they won’t recognize me.”

“Silver, darling, when I’m done with you, your own mother won’t recognize you.” A brief expression crosses Silver’s face before he cleans it away, that bland, pleasant set of his lips the only thing showing. “Now, we’ve only two hours to get it all done. First and foremost.” He stands and throws open a door, exposing a grand, decadent closet. Silk dresses hang in a rainbow of colors--blue and pearl and satiny, soft pinks. Green like the color of Flint’s eyes, glittering in the sunlight. Silver’s lips part at the sight. He’s never seen so many clothes in his entire life.

“Neither of you wear dresses, do you?” he asks, and when they both shake their head Rackham sighs. “Pity. But you--” He points to Flint. “You seem like you could pull off silk.”

“He has worn silks,” Silver says. “When I first met him he wore an emerald green shirt.” Flint looks at him curiously and Silver flushes, looking away.

“Good,” Rackham says, and he’s off, Silver and Flint dragged along for the ride.

At one point, Silver sits in a chair and complains when Rackham lathers a lotion all over his face. “It tingles!”

“Oh, shut up,” Rackham says crossly. “Of course it tingles. It’s a magical creme.”

“What the fuck does it do?” Silver asks, alarmed.

“Grows hair.”

Silver’s eyes widen.

“You’ve never had facial hair in your life, have you?” Rackham asks, shaking his head. “No wonder. Flint, here, already has a good bit of stubble, but you, hardly any. It must take you ages.”

Silver scowls but doesn’t deny it. He’s never grown a beard because it’s taken too damn long and he just looks like a prepubescent boy with whiskers while it’s happening.

After a moment, Rackham steps back. “Hmm.”

“What?” Silver asks, squirming.

“Well, it’s not a miracle cure, but it’ll do, I suppose.”

Flint stares, swallowing as he takes in the way Silver’s dark beard that covers his jaw and makes his eyes look the blue at the center of a candle flame, like the cloudless sky they now sail through.

“Is it bad?” Silver asks self-consciously, rubbing his jaw.

“No,” Flint says roughly after a moment, clearing his throat. “No. It looks--fine.”

Rackham arches an eyebrow at him and Flint turns away, the tip of his ears red with heat. Rackham snorts and goes to fiddle with Silver’s hair.

“How did you come about this life?” Silver asks and Rackham smiles fondly.

“My father,” he says. “Was something of a legacy. I had to follow in the footsteps of a fierce pirate and cold-blooded killer.”

“You don’t like killing,” Flint says, watching him. He fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt, _not_ silk, thank God, but something billowy and soft.

“No,” Rackham says, lips twisting. “But I have to pretend to, or those men and women out there will never take me seriously again.”

“I don’t understand that,” Silver replies, desperately not thinking about whatever Rackham is doing to his hair. “Why fight to be accepted by people you don’t actually want to be like? Seems like a good way to unhappiness.”

“I wonder,” Flint says pointedly. “Why someone would do that to themselves.”

Silver goes quiet, staring at his hands.

“Jack!” Anne yells through the doorway. “Town sighted!”

Rackham sighs. “Well,” he says. “This is the best I can do. Hide in here until we leave. You,” he points to Flint. “You’re coming with us. Behave.”

Flint bares his teeth at Rackham but doesn’t protest. Silver snorts softly and Flint looks at him, taking in the messy way Silver’s hair is pulled back, and the gentle wrinkles at the corner of his eyes.

“Try not to start any fights, Flint,” he says wryly and Flint huffs, not deigning him with an answer as he follows Rackham out.

* * *

At the trading center, a steely-jawed, blonde woman stares at the canister by her feet. She opens it, lightning crackling ominously under her fingertips, and then closes it again.

“Doesn’t seem very fresh this time, I’ll be honest,” she says briskly.

“Shall I give you a little taste, Eleanor?” Rackham asks flatly, holding a smaller, cylinder container in his hands.

“No, no--” she starts and Rackham opens it, a bolt of lightning slicing a piece of armor clean in half. Eleanor frowns.

“Oh, brilliant, Jack,” she sighs. “Like those were cheap.”

“Just showing you how fresh my wares are, Eleanor, darling,” Rackham says cheerfully. Anne slinks behind him, catching the eye of a dark-haired girl deeper in the shop. She flashes Anne a smile. “Name your best price,” he says.

“For ten thousand bolts?”

“Ten thousand bolts of the finest quality grade A.”

“Yeah,” she says, crossing her arms. “But it’s a bit difficult to shift, isn’t it? Bit difficult to store. And not exactly legal.” She thinks for a moment. “Best price, 150 guineas.”

“Anne,” Rackham says, and she jerks away from the girl. “Get the men to put the merchandise back on board and prepare to sail.” Flint watches in fascination as the men begin to do just that, the other woman on the crew monitoring them attentively.

“Hold on,” Eleanor says, eyes flashing, her hand clamped on the container. Her dark-haired companion comes up to see the commotion, and she and Eleanor exchange a look.

“What do you think, Max?” she asks, giving Rackham a dismissive look. “These worth 150?”

“I think we could perhaps go a little more,” Max says, her voice rounded and accented. “They are a fine product, though unwieldy.” She’s looking at Anne as she says this, and Anne looks away.

“Hmm,” Eleanor gives Anne a cursory glance before focusing on Rackham. “One-sixty.”

“Eleanor,” Rackham says, leaning forward.

“Jack.” She arches an eyebrow.

“You know damn well these are worth 250, so why don’t we meet in the middle at 200?”

Eleanor and Max glance at each other and Eleanor smirks. “Done,” she says, and Rackham shakes her hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you, as always.”

Eleanor jerks her fingers. “Take it to the back.” She tilts her head at that, and Flint watches as Jack lowers his voice to speak to her. She gives him a look. “This is a private conversation, sir,” she says, and Flint huffs, moving away.

“Nosy.” She shakes her head. “Jack, you heard word about a fallen star?”

“Fallen star?” he asks, brow furrowing.

“Everyone’s talking about it,” she says quietly. “Max has her ears to the ground. If we get our hands on one of them, we could retire.”

Jack frowns, rubbing his goatee, and looks at Flint, the light of the sun hitting his hair in a way that turns it an inhuman burnished red and molten gold.

Flint looks up and meets his eyes, the green of them glinting like the jade on Jack’s rings.

“No,” he says after a moment, turning to Eleanor. “I’ve not heard of one.”

“Nothing at all?” she asks, visibly disappointed. “Not even a whisper? Max says everyone is going on about it down at the market.”

“The one near the wall?”

Eleanor nods.

Jack scoffs. “What are you doing listening to gossip like that? Those rubbish folk never know anything.”

“You’d be surprised,” Max says, startling him. “Rubbish folk, as you say, hear more than you think.”

“Do they,” Jack says neutrally. “Well, I’m sure you two have a lot of work to do, so we best be off. Anne, Mary! Get the men!” He reaches out to grab Flint’s elbow as he passes him, and Flint lets him, following him out. Anne exchanges a look with Max, who reaches out to touch their fingertips together before Mary grabs Anne’s arm and tugs her away.

When they get back to the ship Anne draws her sword. “Who the fuck are you?”

Silver lounges insouciantly on the deck, smoking absently, his beard thick and dark along his jaw, blue eyes twinkling brightly. His hair spills like ink down his shoulders, longer than before, and Flint is drawn to the hollow of Silver’s glistening throat, where a square copper pendant sits between his collarbones. Flint’s fingers twitch and he wonders how Silver’s beard would feel against his hands, if he could feel the pulse of Silver’s heart if he pressed his thumb to the curve of Silver’s neck.

“Jack!” Silver calls and Jack shoves his way forward.

“Anne, darling, please lower your sword. This is my cousin John Silver, and he’s come to visit and help train our new recruit, since he’s being a bit difficult.” Anne nudges Flint forward and Flint scowls, though he does step forward towards Silver and Jack. “He’ll be joining us for our journey home.”

Anne rolls her eyes them, but tugs her hat lower on her head as the rest of the crew disperses.

“Alright, you lot,” Anne says sharply. “Let’s get us underway and see the Captain's cousin home.”

The great ship shudders once, wooden beams groaning, water cascading down its sides as it heaves itself into the endless sky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldn't kill off the unicorn rip. somebody pls draw flint riding on it, thank u
> 
> title taken from "stardust" by neil gaiman but don't be fooled bc i've never read the book in my life. this is based off the movie
> 
> also part 2 will be posted next week bc it's definitely done i just have to. edit and go back to write something sexy bye.


	2. they shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are animal transformations, love confessions, voodoo dolls, and happily ever afters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me closing out of stardust on my netflix: hmm, i dont think im gonna watch this again for at least a year
> 
> the nsa agent watching my computer, sobbing: thank god

The ship's journey through the sky is like nothing Flint has ever experienced. There’s something to be said by _moving_ through the air and not just shining statically as he had done his whole long life. Seeing the land change below him, bending over the rail to feel the wet drip of the clouds, the wind in his hair.

There’s a warmth at his side and he turns to see Silver, his longer hair tied back into a high, messy bun, strands of curls framing his face. Flint can’t help but study the curve of his small ears, delicate in the way they rest on his head, the small hoop earrings threaded through the still-healing pink skin of his lobes.

“Jack says he wants to know where you learned to fence.” His voice is warm and low in his ear and Flint fights a shiver.

“I have been watching human for millennia,” Flint replies, gently nudging their shoulders together. “I was bound to pick up a few things.”

Silver laughs and the sound settles warm and low in his stomach.

“Well, he says you’re in charge of teaching me then. I’ve ruined too many of his shirts with my clumsiness.”

Flint’s lips quirk. “You _are_ clumsy as a newborn foal,” he says, hearing how fond his own voice is. Silver just grins brightly and holds out a sword, which Flint takes, their fingers brushing together.

The blades clang together and they move, Silver managing to block a few more each time, his chest heaving whenever Flint has his sword to his throat. His tie comes loose at one point and Flint is distracted at the way the dark locks frame his face, Silver getting a lucky strike in.

“You’re getting better,” Flint says when they stop to rest, Silver panting hard as he leans against a barrel. Sweat drips down his neck and Flint wets his lips, feeling parched as he watches the droplet slide down to his collarbone and rest in the dip there.

Silver snorts. “If by better you mean I’ve gotten a few lucky hits now and then, then sure.”

Flint smiles down at his hands, shaking his head. “You have,” he says. “A few days ago, you wouldn’t have gotten those hits in at all.”

Silver huffs but he looks amused. “At this point, there’s no pride between you and I, is there?”

“My first meeting with you was you _falling_ on me, so no, I suppose there isn’t.”

Silver laughs. “Christ, I can’t believe I thought you would just be a rock,” he says, sounding soft.

Jack watches them, taking in the way Flint has started to glow a bit whenever Silver looks at him, how it brightens more when Silver laughs.

He continues to watch them as the days pass, when Flint takes to rigging, climbing up high on the ropes and tipping his head back in the wind, the red flare of his hair nearly covered in how brightly he glows. Silver yells at him from below and Flint gives him a rude hand gesture, shining brighter when Silver laughs.

On their next lightning hunt, they almost don’t need lanterns, with the way Flint’s hair shimmers gold even in the rain, the rest of his body covered in the coat. Silver watches him with a half-open mouth, before aggressively refocusing when a lightning strike flashes.

It’s a warm night as Jack and Flint spar on the deck, the wood lit a deep brown from the torches, Flint’s hair nearly the same color as the flame. Flint shines faintly as he’s wont to do these days, especially with Silver watching.

Jack won’t admit it, but Flint is a better swordfighter than him, though that doesn’t mean he doesn’t make it as hard for him as possible. He slashes at his chest, making Flint pivot away, then he moves closer to get in another hit.

“I know what you are,” Jack says to him and Flint’s eyes widen, glow dimming. “No.” Jack parries a strike. “Have no fear. No one on this vessel will harm you.”

Flint is distracted, letting Jack get in another hit.

“There are others who will,” Jack says, voice low and quiet. “You give yourself away when you look at him.”

Flint aggressively flicks his wrist and Jack just barely moves out of the way of a sword to the ribs. “I don’t know who you mean,” he says icily.

Jack rolls his eyes. “You _glow_ when you look at him, Flint. You need to learn to control it.”

“I can’t just control it,” he says with a scowl. “I’m a _star._ It’s what I do.”

“Can I interrupt?” Silver says, twirling his sword in his hand. “You seem a bit exhausted, Captain Rackham.”

Jack steps back. “By all means.” He goes to stand next to Anne, who offers him a bottle of rum. He takes a swig.

“Jesus Christ, Silver,” he hears Flint say as he corrects Silver’s form. Silver grabs Flint’s sword when he’s distracted and dances away on light feet, laughing.

“I win!”

“You little shit,” Flint says, and his voice sounds exasperated but he’s never shone brighter, his eyes gleaming like emeralds and his pale skin lit up so intensely it hurts to look at him.

“I think that’s a term of endearment,” Silver says delightedly and Flint lunges at him, Silver’s laughter loud and happy as it lingers in the night sky.

* * *

“Was there anything strange about the men that Calico Jack came with?” Woodes Rogers asks Eleanor, who stares back flintily, unafraid.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr. Rogers,” she says. “Unless you have something better to offer me?”

Rogers grinds his teeth hard, wishing not for the first time that Eleanor didn’t have more protective charms around her than the goddamn prison. He pulls out a gem, exceedingly rare and not something he had wanted to part with. Her eyes gleam as she holds her hand out.

He jerks his back. “And how will I know if you’re telling the truth?”

“Max!” Eleanor calls and she comes out from behind a set of cabinets, frowning. “Tell Mr. Rogers here that for that stone, we would tell him whatever he wanted.”

Max glances at it and her eyes narrow.

“A pretty thing,” she says. “What is it he wants to know?”

“If there were any strange men with Jack’s crew.”

“Oh, yes,” she says, taking the charmed stone from Rogers before he even realizes what has happened. “There was a red-headed man with them. Very quiet. He moved like he wasn’t quite human.”

Eleanor looks at him, eyebrow arched.

“Are you sure?” Rogers asks. “You would not like me as an enemy, Ms. Guthrie.”

“Max has the memory of a photograph,” she says with a bland smile. “Now get out of my shop, Mr. Rogers.”

Rogers leaves with a whirl of his cloak and Eleanor watches him go.

“I hate that man,” Max says, but she’s looking at the charm.

“He brings good business though,” she says, watching her.

She flashes Eleanor a smile. “That he does. Cheers to perhaps retiring with this.”

Eleanor snorts. “We could never retire. We both would be too bored and then you’d never see your sky girl again.”

“Eleanor!”

She smirks. “I’ve seen you two making eyes.”

Max huffs but her lips curve up listening to the sound of Eleanor’s laughter.

* * *

“Thank you for helping us,” Silver says when they land, and Jack clasps his hand over Silver’s.

“Don’t mention it,” he says. “Truly. Reputations take lifetimes to build and seconds to destroy.”

Flint watches as Jack leans forward to whisper something into Silver’s ear, which causes him to swallow and glance at Flint. Flint stares back at him, head tilted, a strand of that damned red hair falling in front of his face. Silver wants to touch it and tuck it behind his ear and he looks away.

“What did he tell you?” Flint asks as they walk away.

“What?”

“Jack. He said something in your ear.”

Silver runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. “Nothing. Just that we should barter the lightning for a Babylon candle, to get you home.”

Flint stares at him and Silver doesn’t meet his eyes, feeling that gaze on the side of his face.

“If you say so,” is all he says, and they continue to walk.

* * *

“Did a man come by here?” Dufresne asks. Max stares at him coolly.

“Many men come through here, your highness,” she says. “You will have to be more specific.”

“Tall, scar on his face. Probably seeking information on a red-haired man.”

Max arches an eyebrow. “Perhaps,” she says. “But no information is passed on without a price.”

Dufresne gets in her face, breathing hard. Besides a slight wrinkling of her nose, Max doesn’t move.

“Do you have any idea who I am?” he asks coldly.

“Yes, your highness,” she replies. “But I’m afraid that a not-yet-king’s orders doesn’t do much in this economy.” She pauses. “No offense.”

Dufresne puts his hand to his sword and feels something cold at his back.

“If you even think about pulling that out, you will regret it,” Eleanor says coldly. Dufresne drops his hand, letting out a slow breath.

“I apologize,” he says slowly and Eleanor moves around to stand next to Max, her crossbow still cocked.

“Get the fuck out,” she says. “You’ll find no information here. A carriage passed through that went due north. Follow that trail and never grace this doorway again.” There’s a beat of silence. “Your highness.”

Dufresne takes his men and leaves.

* * *

“Jesus _,_ what the hell are you doing?” Flint says when Silver shoves him into the bushes off the path, onto the ground and over him, his hand over his mouth.

“Shh,” Silver says, listening intently. He drops his hand, rests it lightly on Flint’s collarbone, and Flint’s skin shimmers at the touch. He gazes up at Silver, who blinks at him. “I don’t want anyone to catch you,” he murmurs, resting his palms on either side of Flint’s head, their chests brushing with each breath they take.

Flint stares up at him and Silver sways forward a little, his eyes focused on the soft curve of Flint’s lower lip, something heated coiled low in his belly.

“Are you ever tempted?” Flint asks, voice pitched low. The words hang between them, intimate, and Silver bends further down, shivering when he feels Flint’s breath on his face.

“By what?” he murmurs.

“Immortality,” Flint says softly, tongue darting out to lick his lower lip. Silver’s eyes helplessly follow the flash of pink, the slick path it leaves behind. “Let’s say it wasn’t my heart.” Silver leans back very slightly, brow furrowing as Flint’s words pierce through his mind.

“Not me,” Flint hurries to say. “Just a star you didn’t know.”

Silver gazes at him, his hair falling over them like a curtain. “You seriously think I could kill anyone?”

Flint snorts, his lips curving up, and Silver’s eyes brighten at the soft flush on Flint’s skin. “I _have_ seen your swordplay.”

Silver pouts a bit but he looks amused. “And even if I could--everlasting life? It sounds lonely.” They stare at each other for a beat. “Well,” Silver murmurs. “Maybe if you had someone to share it with. Someone you love.” Silver’s eyes have a distant look to them. “Maybe then.”

The brightness of Flint’s skin dims as he watches Silver, and he’s quiet when Silver pulls back.

“I think we’re safe,” he says and Flint takes Silver’s hand, standing back up.

* * *

Dufresne pulls up his horse when he sees the docked Ranger airship, watching intently.

“Remember,” he says, before they take the ship. “The man has a fearsome reputation.”

It doesn’t take long to corral the crew back, and from the cabin they hear faint music.

“You take care of this,” Dufresne tells the men, and he disappears inside.

Anne watches the men from underneath the brim of her hat and then she smirks, glancing at Mary. She takes her hat off and swoops down into a low bow, eyes sharp and cat-like. When the men, royally-trained to follow a bow with their own, do so, Anne and Mary yell, and the crew attacks.

It is chaos, and inside Dufresne winces when he hears the thump of a body hitting the door. What he finds is the fearsome Calico Jack Rackham in a loose dress, whirling around in skirts to the tune of the music, humming happily.

“What the fuck?”

Jack startles to a stop and stares at him, eyes wide. “Who the hell are you?”

Dufresne sneers, pushing up his glasses. “My name is Prince Dufresne,” he says, pressing a sword to Jack’s throat. Jack swallows. “And you’re going to tell me where to find the star.”

“No,” he says, a little shakily. “I don’t think I will.”

Dufresne easily has him with his back against the wall, a cut on Jack’s cheek oozing blood slowly.

“I _said--”_

“Leave him the fuck alone,” Anne snaps, and Dufresne whirls around to see the entire crew, Anne’s sword dripping blood down the tip. Dufresne makes a quick decision and jumps out the window, landing hard in the water.

* * *

“You know you sort of...glitter. Is that normal?” Silver asks as they walk companionably along the well-worn path.

Flint rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth pulling up. “Well, let’s see if you can figure that out for yourself,” he says. “What do stars do?”

“Attract trouble,” Silver says promptly and Flint shoves him. Silver laughs, tripping in the grass. “Alright, alright,” he says. “Do I get another guess?”

Flint watches him and Silver can see the fondness in Flint’s gaze. His heart leaps in his throat.

“Is it...that they know exactly how to ruin all of John Silver’s plans?”

Flint huffs out a soft laugh and then stops at a sign, Silver nearly running into him.

_Wall - Sixty Miles._

“How long will that take?” Flint asks and Silver shrugs.

“Two days, perhaps.”

“We don’t have two days--didn’t you say Madi’s birthday is tomorrow?”

Silver blinks and frowns. “It is,” he says. “You remembered.”

Flint flashes him a small smile and keeps walking, Silver trailing after him with a thoughtful look on his face.

* * *

“Everybody get out,” Jack says sharply, the sleeve of his dress sliding down his shoulder, and Anne shoves her way forward.

“You alright, Jack?” she asks gruffly. “You tell ‘em about your cousin?”

“Of course not,” Jack snaps.

“Then what the fuck’s your problem?”

“It’s my reputation,” he says with a dramatic sigh. “My legacy.”

Anne rolls her eyes. “Jack,” she says. “You fucking idiot.”

“‘S alright, Captain,” Mary says, arms crossed. “We always knew you were a poof.”

Jack looks aghast and Anne glares at Mary, who shrugs.

“Listen, ‘cause I’m only gonna say this once,” Anne says. “You’ll always be our captain, Jack.”

“Aye, aye,” the crew choruses.

Jack sits back, then he smiles, slow, looking at Anne.

“What d’you think I get up to every time we go to land?” she asks, exasperated.

Jack furrows his brows. “ _Oh!_ Max! Really?”

Anne shakes her head, but she looks as fond as Anne can ever be. “Fucking oblivious.”

* * *

“Prince Dufresne,” Billy says from his horse, not looking concerned. "Have you noticed all your men are dead?"

“Oh, really?” Dufresne says snidely, then orders him to get off, taking the horse and leaving him there.

Billy turns around, stares at the docked ship, and smiles.

* * *

“Excuse me, excuse me!” Silver yells when he sees the yellow caravan. “Could we--”

“That’s my flower!” Hornigold says, leaning forward. “Where the fuck did you get that? I’ve been looking for that for 25 years!”

Flint tries to move in front of Silver but Silver shakes his head, hand on the hilt of his sword as Hornigold stalks over, eyes radiating fury.

Silver flicks his sword out, and Hornigold stops, wary. “My apologies,” he says after a moment. “I must have been mistaken.”

“It’s alright,” Silver says. “It’s obviously very valuable. You can have it in exchange for safe passage to the Wall and a Babylon Candle.”

Hornigold snorts. “Babylon Candle? How common do you think those are? Besides,” he says. “I don’t deal in black magic.”

“Really?” Silver furrows his brows. “Well, just a lift then. To the Wall?”

The green-toothed smile Hornigold gives Silver makes Flint uneasy, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

“For that flower, I can offer you passage, food and lodging along the way.”

“To the Wall?” he asks.

“I swear, you will arrive at the Wall in the same exact condition you are in now,” Hornigold says, his hand up in a vow.

“Hold on,” Flint begins to say, but it’s too late, Hornigold’s fingers clasping around the flower and a nasty grin on his face.

“You don’t even know what you had, did you?”

“Some kind of charm?”

“Mm, protection. The exact kind of protection that would have made me unable to do this.” And with a bright flash of light, where Silver once was is now a small mouse, whiskers twitching.

"You _fuck,”_ Flint snarls but when he tries to lash out at Hornigold, a barrier prevents him, shoving him back before his skin every touches Hornigold’s, and Hornigold is oblivious, scooping Silver up in his hands.

“I’ll keep my promise,” Hornigold says absently as Flint touches the strange border surrounding him that won’t let Flint wrap his hands around Hornigold’s throat and squeeze. “You won’t be harmed.”

“If you harm one single hair on his head, I’ll rip your throat out myself,” Flint promises darkly as he follows Hornigold, clenching his jaw when Hornigold does not respond.

As he places the mouse in a small cage, Flint leans against the wall of the caravan, watching him with an angry twist to his mouth. “Am I correct in assuming that you can neither see, nor hear me?" He waits a beat. "Then I’d like to tell you that you smell like piss and you look like the wrong end of a dog.” He leans forward, teeth bared. “And I swear to god, if I don’t get my-- _S_ _ilver_ back the way he was, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your miserable fucking life.”

* * *

It’s not long later when Flint kneels down in front of the cage, the caravan rattling steadily along the path.

“Silver,” Flint murmurs. “If you can understand me, look at me.”

The mouse just moves its whiskers, looking to the side. Something dark unfurls inside of Flint and he reaches out to touch the mouse, letting it rub its head on Flint’s fingers. He gives it a piece of cheese, watching it chew on it happily.

There’s an aching loneliness spreading along his chest and he realizes abruptly that he misses Silver’s incessant chattering, his inability to shut the fuck up for just one minute.

“You remember when I said I only knew a little about love,” he says softly, leaning his head back against the wall, the wheels making the inside of his head vibrate against his skull.

“I was lying. I know a lot about love. I’ve watched it for centuries. Thomas and Miranda and I--we liked seeing it happen in so many ways, so many permutations.” Flint closes his eyes, exhaling shakily. “And Thomas--” His breath hitches. “I think I loved him, if a star could love then. In some way.” He remembers feeling it when Thomas died, his life winked out of his existence, remembers the shared pain between he and Miranda.

“Anyway,” he says, clearing his throat. “It was the only thing that made watching this world bearable. All the wars and pain and hate. But love…” He smiles faintly. “That’s what you humans do best. Messy and terrible and all-encompassing. But beautiful. In a way I couldn’t understand. Not until I fell.” He opens his eyes and looks at the mouse, eyes intent.

“So, yes, I know that love is unconditional. But I also know it can be unpredictable, unexpected. Uncontrollable. _Unbearable._ ” Flint looks at his hands, studying the small flecks of freckles around his knuckle that match a constellation of stars he spent everyday living next to.

“It can be easy to mistake it for loathing,” he says finally. His throat feels thick and his eyes close, his heart pounding in his chest. “You weren’t welcome in my head, but you’re in there anyway,” he says in a rough voice. “Damn you.”

It _aches_ , is what it does. Every time he looks at Silver it feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin, feels like his heart will burst out of his chest. He wants to rip it out of himself and give it to Silver, his hands still bloody and wound on his body gaping and empty.

“It’s not mine anymore,” Flint says softly, touching the bars of the cage. “My heart.”

Then he drops his hand and leans his head back to close his eyes, settling in for rest until they arrive at a stop. Flint jerks away when Hornigold comes back inside and he scrambles outside to follow them, watching as Hornigold touches the mouse.

“Transformation leaves the brain scrambled, sometimes,” he says as Silver tries to lunge forward and ends up nearly falling, Flint catching him around his waist before placing him gently on the ground.

“I warned you,” Hornigold says dismissively. “Save your strength.” He walks away and Flint turns to Silver, cupping his face.

“Silver,” he says insistently and Silver leans against Flint’s hand, smiling at him. Flint’s brow furrows. “What?”

“Pretty,” Silver says, touching his cheek before he passes out.

Flint stares at him and sighs. “You idiot,” he says, hauling him up.

At the inn, he dumps Silver onto a bed and peels his own clothes off, wincing at the grime that has crusted onto his shirt, and he slides into the bathtub, sighing happily at the warmth that seeps into his muscles.

Flint dozes on and off, head tipped back against the rim. He groans softly as he stretches, eyes closed.

“Are you having fun in there?” Silver asks and Flint startles, water splashing out of the tub.

"Fuck,” he hisses, banging his shin against the edge. Silver looks sheepish, leaning against the separation between the bed and tub. Flint blinks up at him and Silver makes his way over when Flint doesn’t protest, tipping his head back to watch Silver move.

Flint sits up and Silver hands him his robe, looking away as Flint stands, though he catches a glimpse of Flint’s thick, muscled thighs, freckles dusting every inch of skin.

“Did you mean what you said?” Silver asks, listening as Flint wraps the robe around himself. “In the caravan.”

Flint stills, eyes widening. “You were a _mouse._ You wanted cheese!”

Silver grins, turning to look at him as he steps forward, his smile widening at the scowl on Flint’s beautiful face.

“You _shit."_

“That really is a term of endearment,” he says, delighted, and then kisses Flint, fingers cupping his cheeks. Flint makes a startled noise and joy surges inside of him, overflowing out of the brim of his body in the form of light, spilling out onto Silver’s skin from his own as his eyes slide shut, kissing back desperately.

“Do you want to know what Jack said to me, that day?” Silver says between kisses, pulling Flint back with him towards the bed, shivering when Flint’s hands slide down to the curve of his lower back, warm through his clothes.

“I don’t care,” Flint growls, shoving Silver onto the bed and then pouncing onto him, pinning Silver’s wrists above his head. Silver gasps, baring his throat for Flint’s teeth, his whole body flashing hot wherever Flint touches him, Flint’s glow causing white spots to dance in front of Silver’s eyes.

“He told me-- _ah_ \--he told me that the love of my life was right in front of me.”

Flint pulls back to stare at him, his hair messy and falling over his face, fair cheeks flushed and lips swollen and pink. Silver shivers hard underneath him and he laughs when Flint’s skin becomes so bright that Silver has to close his eyes, seeking Flint’s mouth blindly.

“You--” Flint makes a ragged noise and kisses him, sucking on Silver’s lower lip. _“You_ \--”

“Shit, I know,” Silver says, tangling his fingers in Flint’s hair to pull him closer, feeling the heat of the light against his skin as he kisses him again and again, searing into him like a brand, like Flint has imprinted himself onto his skin. Silver is fiercely glad of it, his hands sliding down Flint’s skin, tracing the muscles in his stomach, the strength of his shoulders and back, the way his chest heaves.

Silver can still see the light emanating from Flint’s skin behind his closed eyelids and something warm and possessive curls inside of him, settling into his bones. Something permanent. His blood feels slow and hot as it moves through his body, his cheeks flushed, and he bites down on his lower lip when Flint slots their hips together, pleasure simmering deep in his gut.

"Oh,  _fuck,"_ Silver pants, his eyes flying open to meet Flint's eyes, to see the clever little smirk on his face as he rolls his hips, their cocks sliding together.  _Oh,_ Silver clutches Flint's shoulders and then cranes his neck up for a kiss, making a startled, low noise against Flint's mouth when he slides his thigh between Silver's. Flint shudders at the sound of Silver's soft moans and gasps, dripping from his mouth like honey and Flint a simple bee caught in its trap, tasting the noises on his tongue.

"Where did you--"

Flint bites down on Silver's jaw, tonguing the pulse point along his neck and tasting the sticky-hot salt there, the fluttering hummingbird beat of his heart. "I have been watching humans for  _millennia."_ He pulls back and looks down at Silver, whose eyes darken at that.

"So that means--"

Flint feels himself grin, their bodies pressed tight together, and he can feel Silver twitch against his thigh. _"Yes."_

"God help me," Silver breathes and rolls them over, catching Flint by surprise with a deep, desperate kiss, grinding his hips down in a frankly filthy way that makes Flint cry out, white-hot pleasure rushing through his body fast enough to make him lose himself for a minute.

When he comes back to himself, Silver is grinning that trickster's grin, the one that makes Flint want to do something dangerous like give Silver his whole bloody heart still beating in his palms, to watch Silver consume it, his jaw and chin stained crimson by his blood. 

Flint makes a startled noise when Silver reaches between them, his large, clever hands taking them both in hand and stroking, the slick of themselves easing the motion. His skin feels electric, every place they are pressed together on the verge of splitting apart.

"Fuck,  _fuck,_ " Flint pants, dragging his slippery hands down Silver's back, feeling the flex of his muscles as he moves, his toes curling. 

"It's one thing to watch, Flint," Silver murmurs, their mouths brushing together. He twists his wrist and Flint throws his head back, his hips bucking up under Silver's warm, lithe body. "It's a whole other thing to  _feel._ I'm going to show you what makes being human worth it."

God help him, Flint thinks dazedly, staring at the curl of Silver's clever mouth, the long brush of his eyelashes and the dark expanse of pupil nearly encompassing the blue. The pleasure begins to crest, building up like a cracked dam inside of Flint, like the light that can't stop shining out of his body, a kind of pleasure that Flint can't even put into  _words,_ thoughts fracturing as it builds to a crescendo. He keens, catching Silver's mouth with his own as it bursts out of him in a white-hot explosion.  _So this is why stars fall,_ Flint thinks, Silver's breath hot on his throat, smile pressed to his skin, as he throws himself willingly over the edge, trusting Silver to catch him before he crashes to the ground.

* * *

“The star is close,” Berringer says to Rogers and Rogers scowls.

“I know. In an inn at Freeport.”

“A mile away from the Wall.”

“Why are you acting like that’s a good thing?” Rogers snaps. “Do I have to remind you that the Wall is beyond our scope? As soon as they cross over, the star will become something useless to us!”

“Hurry up, then!” Berringer replies, eyes flashing. “Everything has been set up for you for days, _brother._ ”

Rogers huffs and stalks off, disconnecting the ring.

* * *

Silver opens his eyes, staring up at the ceiling, and he rolls over, looking at Flint asleep next to him. His hair spills like flame over the white pillow, and Silver reaches out to trace a line along a constellation of freckles that goes from his shoulder down to his ribs, smiling when Flint’s muscles twitch and he grumbles in his sleep. His skin still shimmers faintly and Silver leans over to press a kiss to the skin of his shoulder, then runs his nose down to the back of Flint’s neck, pressing another kiss there.

Flint looks peaceful and Silver feels loathe to wake him up. He takes one more look at him before getting out of bed, dressing quickly, then stops, glancing at Flint again. He takes a small knife and takes a small strand of Flint’s hair, cutting it before he runs his fingers through Flint’s hair again, his chest warm when Flint nuzzles into the touch before settling back down.

At the lobby he stops and looks around, ringing the bell. A man snorts and blinks.

“Hello.” Silver looks at the name tag. “Randall. Do you have a pen and paper?”

“Ask me again at a more reasonable hour,” Randall says, closing his eyes again.

“No, I can’t,” Silver says insistently. “I have to go. Look, if my friend wakes up before I get back, can you give him a message?”

Randall rubs his eyes, sitting up. “Go on.”

* * *

“You know,” Flint says with a yawn. “That’s the first time I’ve ever slept at night.” He rolls over and opens his eyes, frowning at the empty space on the next to him. He sits up and yawns again, drowsier because of the sun shining right in his eyes. “Silver?” he asks the empty room, and he huffs softly, knuckling his eyelids, then flops back onto the bed.

“Miranda,” he says aloud. “Why are humans the way they are?”

* * *

Silver stares at the wall and steps through the gap, exhaling. He doesn’t feel any different, doesn’t feel like the touch of Flint’s fingers on his hips has faded from his memory or body, doesn’t feel like the light that spilled out of Flint’s body and onto his own has disappeared from his mind.

He follows the well-worn path to and hears giggling when he passes the field that he and Madi used to drink in when they were younger and then continued to frequent when they were older, looking at the stars and reading aloud to each other by candlelight.

His steps lead him through the permanently trampled grass by the forgotten hay bale, and he gives a soft pat to the old dairy cow who chews her cud in the shade. Then, he spots a dark head of curls that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Madi! Madi, I--Oh.”

Madi has hastily pulled on a shirt and Eme’s is buttoned improperly, the two of them breathing a little hard, sitting closer than normal. Their fingers nearly touch on the soft, dewy grass.

“John!” Madi says, sounding remarkably composed, but her eyes betray her, wide and terrified.

“Happy birthday?" he says weakly and Madi glares at him, her arms over his chest. Silver bites his lip. "So, this is why you couldn’t--”

Her jaw works and she finally nods. “I--It’s been happening for a while.”

He kneels down, feeling like he’s looming, and takes Madi’s hand. “It’s alright, Madi,” he says softly. “I actually came. Well, I came to bring you a bit of the star. But to say that I couldn’t marry you either.”

Madi looks wary, but she relaxes a little bit, and Eme scoots closer, hesitantly slotting her fingers with Madi's.

Silver sits on the ground and watches them, smiling a little. “So the good news is, I found your star,” he says. “The bad news, though I suppose it isn’t such bad news, now, is--I fell in love with him.”

 _"Him?_ ”

Silver nods, looking down shyly. “So you can see, why I wouldn’t care. About you and her.” He nods to Eme, who manages a tentative smile back.

Madi laughs softly. “Well, then,” she says. “Where is the bit of this handsome star?”

Silver flushes but hands her the cloth, holding his breath as she opens it. Glittering ash and rock and Madi looks up with concern, but Silver’s already on his feet.

“I have to--I--he can’t cross the wall,” he says, desperately. “Madi, I--”

“Go,” she says, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “ _Go._ ”

* * *

“Oh, you,” the man in the lobby says when Flint comes down, his body loose and warm in a way it’s never been, like he’s finally learned to move around in it like it is his own. Flint squints at the name tag taped to his collar.

“Randall,” Flint says, sounding the name out. “Did you see my--friend come by?”

“Yeah,” Randall says, flicking a piece of earwax off his finger. “He left.”

Flint blinks. His heart jumps and he rubs his chest, feeling an ache. “He left?”

Randall picks his nose next. “Yeah. Left a message for you. Told me to tell you he’s gone to see Madi, because he’s sorry, but he’s found his true love, who he wants to spend the rest of his life with.”

Flint thinks for a long moment, his fingers twitching as if feeling the phantom thread of Silver’s hair through them, the echo of Silver’s breathless laughter in his ear. “Are you sure?” he asks finally.

“Positive,” Randall says boredly, picking at the dirt under his nails. Flint feels dizzy, sound rushing through his ears as he turns around. Somehow he finds himself outside, resting his hand against the inn building, and his chest feels cracked open, all the light that was inside him seeping out like sand in an hourglass.

Then, abruptly, it turns again, something hot and dark filling the spaces where Silver used to be, something that makes his teeth clench in his jaw until it aches, his fingers curling into fists.

Fuck this world, _fuck_ the humans in it, and fuck especially that infuriating shit that dragged him into this mess. Flint snarls softly under his throat and makes his way forward, to where something still pulls him, entangled in the knotted mass inside of his chest.

Far behind him, a woman with bluebird-colored eyes makes a decision, locks the yellow caravan where Hornigold sleeps, flicks the reigns, the horse jumping forward with a startled whinny, and follows him.

* * *

For awhile, there is just running.

Silver runs as fast as his legs can take him, images of Flint stepping over the wall and exploding into glittering ash flashing through his mind, and he pushes himself faster, lungs burning.

Rogers’s head rattles against the carriage as his horses run.

And Dufresne runs too, whipping his horse until it froths blood that flecks onto his boots.

The forest is alive around them, connected through intertwining roots and stem and bright, dancing leaves, insects harsh and wild to egg them on.

* * *

Flint stops and gazes at the crumbling stone for a moment, nudging a loose rock with his foot. It’s quiet out here, the grass sliding together with a soft hiss as the breeze nudges the blades. His rage bleeds out of his body like a balloon running out of air, and he closes his eyes briefly, thinking longingly of the night sky, where this body didn’t exist, where the only thing he knew about love was watching humans fall clumsily and violently into it.

He takes a step forward, and then feels a small hand curl around his wrist and tug him back.

“Stop!” She pants, eyes wide, and Flint jerks his arm away.

“Who _are_ you?”

“Idelle.” She yanks him back even more. Flint grunts and stumbles back, away from the wall. “If you set foot one step beyond the wall, you’ll turn to rock,” she says, just as Hornigold bursts through the door of the caravan, snarling at Idelle and yanking the chain around her ankle.

“You brazen little _wench_ _,_ I should’ve killed you when I had the chance,” he hisses, dragging Idelle against the ground, back towards him. She yells, face twisted in fear and anger. “ _Where have you taken me?”_

A horse neighs and Flint whirls around, Rogers’s carriage coming into view. He steps out, glancing between the opening of the wall and Flint.

“If death is what you wish,” he says. “I’d be glad to grant that for you.”

“Who are you talking to?” Hornigold snaps, eyes skittering over the space where Flint is, unseeing.

“Ah!” Rogers grins. “You. No, I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to the star.”

“There’s no star here,” Hornigold says, jerking Idelle closer. “If she was, I’d have ripped her heart out of her chest long ago.” Idelle stomps on Hornigold’s foot and he grunts, tightening his grip on the chain until she winces in pain. “Trust me on that.”

“Trust you?” Rogers snorts. “Not likely, Hornigold.” Overhead, the clouds gather, sky darkening. “What’s it to be? Heads or tails?”

Idelle’s eyes widen and she jumps out of the way, grasping Flint, when Rogers spits green magic at Hornigold. His shriek of pain is the last thing heard before the magic melts away and he’s left there, headless, standing upright for a brief moment before he collapses, the chain around Idelle’s ankle disappearing.

“Come on,” Rogers says, turning around.

“No,” Idelle says and Flint looks startled and bemused when Idelle plants herself in front of him.

Rogers sighs. “Oh, you can come too, if you’d like.” He flicks his fingers and another unbreakable chain wraps Flint and Idelle’s wrists together. Flint lifts his hand, dragging Idelle’s up too, and they stare at each other, the same sardonic expression twisted on their faces.  _If we see these ever again, it'll be too damn soon._

“Get in the carriage,” Rogers says. “Or be dragged out back. Your choice.”

It’s not really a choice at all.

* * *

“What happened?” Silver asks, panting as he reaches the wall and sees the wreckage on the other side.

The guard looks wild-eyed, saying,  _I quit,_ over and over again under his breath. Silver puts his hands on his shoulders and shakes him.

“Look at me,” he snaps, his own heart racing. “What _happened?”_

“What happened is I’ve been spending my whole life keeping people from crossing in when I should’ve spent it making sure nothing comes in!” His voice is louder by the second, ending in a high-pitched shriek. Silver winces.

“Right,” he says impatiently. “But I need to know specifically what happened so if you could _tell me,_ I could be on my way and leave you to your retirement.”

And the guard opens his mouth and what he says makes Silver pale. He stares wide-eyed at the scorch mark on the ground then picks around in the wreckage until he finds the small white flower, tucking it into his breast pocket. Then, he unhooks the horse and takes off, urging him forward along the carriage trail path, his heart beating in time with Flint’s name.

* * *

Flint wakes with a groan, squinting at the bright light of the chandelier lamp above him. His head pounds heavily and he shifts, finally noticing the thick leather straps binding him down, unmoving as he flexes his wrists to test them.

“Oh, good,” Rogers says, his face appearing above him. “You’re awake.” Someone is tightening the straps around his legs and he jerks his head up, trying to squirm away. Rogers laughs, a chilling thing. “And you’ve met my brother. Berringer.”

Flint bares his teeth at him, gratified to see him pale. Rogers sighs. “You know, that little stunt you pulled, trying to let the woman escape. Very noble. And stupid. As you can see, she’s still here.”

He can hear a muffled yell and he cranes his neck back, seeing Idelle struggling against her chain, eyes sharp and furious. Flint’s eyes narrow and he tries to lunge at Rogers, but the bonds hold fast as he struggles futilely. Rogers laughs, stepping back.

“I think he’s just about ready, isn’t he?” Rogers says and Berringer grunts, finishing the tightening of the belt.

“Just about,” he says. “He’s more of a fighter than the last one.”

“We had time to groom the last one,” Rogers sighs. Flint snarls at the mention of Thomas, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Oh,” Rogers grins. “You knew that one, did you? What was his name again?” He thinks for a moment. “Ah, Thomas, that was it. He shown so brightly when we carved into him.” His eyes gleam. “And he tasted  _good._ ”

“I’m going to rip your throat out,” Flint says in a low growl. “With my _teeth_.”

“Hmm.” Rogers watches him. “I suppose angry is better than heartbroken.”

Flint’s eyes flash, the blood rushing through his head, and he opens his mouth to say something else when the door bursts open. He can hear Idelle shriek as someone grabs her.

“Idelle?” Dufresne says, startled.

“Dufresne?” Idelle stares up at him and Silver watches them, unsure what to do.

Rogers and Berringer unleash twin bursts of flame, dousing Dufresne, and Flint shouts. “Do something!”

Silver hesitates. “Do I actually have to fight them?”

“What the  _fuck_ did you think you were going to have to do?” Flint snaps, trying to escape from the bands strapped around his chest and wrists.

Silver hesitates again and Dufresne unsheathes his sword, launching himself at Berringer with a yell, his sleeve still smoking.

The fight is quick and brutal and Silver presses himself against the wall as he watches, trying to move closer to Flint without the wizards noticing.

There’s a noise of triumph and Berringer chokes, the bloody handle of a sword sticking out of his chest.

Rogers feels something like a pang in his chest, and he closes his eyes, summoning a bit of his magic into clay, forming the figure of a man.

He opens them and smirks at Dufresne. Silver uses the distraction to move even closer, watching out of the corner of his eyes as Dufresne groans in pain, bones snapping with a sickly crunch. Silver almost jumps when a small hand appears out of nowhere to clap over his mouth.

“Shh,” the woman says and Silver makes a questioning noise. “I’m Idelle.” She makes a face like what she's about to say pains her. “Your mother.”

“ _What?”_ He says, voice going a little high-pitched.

“Christ, god, I know,” she says. “You were the worst baby on the planet. I’m never getting pregnant again.”

Silver makes an outraged noise.

“Right,” Idelle says. “Not that I’m not...proud of you. “ She looks strange while saying it and Silver feels equally as disturbed.

“I don’t think you’re the mothering type,” he says to her, strangely relieved, and Idelle looks halfway between offended and resigned.

“Thank god I’ve only met you as an adult,” she agrees. There’s a choked cry and Silver turns just in time to see Dufresne collapse, blood trickling out of his mouth, and he makes a startled sound only for Idelle’s hand to cover his mouth again.

“You should go save that star of yours now,” she hisses. “Before the wizard gets the knives out.” Then she shoves him forward, disappearing out the door.

“Stop!” Silver says then skids to a stop when Rogers raises the knife.

“ _Silver.”_ Flint’s voice sounds a little desperate but he’s glowing again, soft and tentative, and Silver’s heart feels like it’s in his throat, caught there, choking him. Rogers glances between the two of them with a considering hum.

“Come here, boy,” Rogers says, putting the knife down. Silver swallows and steps forward hesitantly.

“No, Silver,” Flint says and makes a choked noise when Rogers puts his hand on Flint’s throat and squeezes lightly, a threat. Silver’s breath hitches and he takes another step.

“I have to thank you,” Rogers says casually, taking the blade and dragging it along Flint’s neck, tracing his Adam’s apple. Flint swallows, the blade moving with his throat. “A star that doesn’t shine is a poor thing indeed.” He watches impassively as blood wells along Flint’s skin in a thin line, following the path of his knife.

Rogers looks up and sees Silver at the base of the stairs, his eyes narrowed in anger.

“That’s close enough,” Rogers says and flicks his fingers, then frowns. Silver looks triumphant, gripping the white flower in his hand as he moves forward, and Rogers drops the knife with a frustrated sigh, going over to the mangled clay doll.

There’s the clattering of steel and the groan of a body moving and Silver freezes, then slowly turns.

“Flint,” he says, backing up a little.

“What?” Flint says testily. “I’m a little fucking busy trying not to get gutted.”

“We better hope I’ve remembered some of your sword lessons.”

“Oh, Christ,” Flint says, craning his neck up to try to see.

Dufresne’s body is upright, his head hanging grotesquely low, and Silver unsheathes his sword, eyes wide, blocking his strike with a clang of blades.

“Oh, shit,” Flint whispers, wriggling his wrist to try to slip it between the restraints, in the background the sound of Silver’s ragged breathing and the metallic strike of swords hitting each other. He grits his teeth and shoves his thumb out of its socket with a pained gasp.

Out on the floor, Silver breathes hard, shirt sticking to his chest as he weaves and ducks and lunges away. It doesn't matter how much he slashes or stabs Dufresne--Silver is coming to the worrying conclusion that Dufresne is already _dead_ , and he can't beat a dead man. A dizzying moment passes when he steps on something sick, his body hovering in the air before he crashes down with a cry, and he rolls over to avoid a slash.

Flint keeps an eye on Rogers as he works his hand free, his thumb hanging dislocated out of its socket, then reaches over to free the other. With a wince, he shoves his thumb back into place, sweat breaking out along his hairline as he turns to watch the swordfight.

Dufresne’s arm strikes out and Silver gasps, squirming away. Rogers bares his teeth as he twists the doll and suddenly Silver’s hearing whites out, his throat working silently as striking pain lances up his leg.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” he gasps, staring at the sword sticking out of his calf, just below his knee, and then he yells when Dufresne’s hand yanks it out then slams the butt of the hilt onto his knee, his hands scrabbling uselessly at the floor. He reaches out blindly, grasping the rope above him, then swings his sword, cutting the line holding the chandelier above Flint’s table, causing it to crash down next to him and swing Silver up and over until he falls, landing on top of Rogers, biting back a scream as he hits his knee, pain lancing up his body, tears springing at the corner of his eyes.

Flint finally yanks the last of the belt off of his ankles and he stands up, wobbly on his legs, blood crusted at the corner of his temple.

“Silver,” Flint says and Silver makes a pained noise, curled up in a heap next to Rogers.

“Don’t,” he slurs when Flint takes a step, glancing at Rogers.

“He’ll--he--” He swallows around his dry throat. “You have to leave.”

“You think I’m going anywhere without you?” Flint asks in disbelief, though he watches Rogers warily, waiting for him to wake.

“I can’t walk with this,” Silver says weakly. “Don’t think I’ll ever be able to walk again.” He clenches his eyes shut, gasping weakly as another wrack of pain shudders through his body, his blood leaking slow and thick onto the floor. Flint kneels in front of him, ripping a strip off his shirt to press to the wound to stop the bleeding, and Silver shoves his knuckles in his mouth to muffle his sob, hot salty tears running down his face. Flint reaches up to cup Silver’s face with his hand, his thumb wiping the tears away from his cheek.

“You came back for me,” he murmurs and Silver leans into the touch, a faint laugh in his throat.

“Turns out that I'm greedy,” he says shakily. "Only a star is good enough for me, now." Flint tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, something soft in his expression that Silver remembers from their night together, right as Flint had gone to asleep, those unreadable green eyes watching him until they’d fallen shut.

Rogers suddenly moves, faster than the eye can see, and has a knife to Silver’s throat.

“How quaint,” he hisses, his skin sagging and grotesque, ancient beyond what his body can show. “As if you can save him now, crippled as you are.”

Silver’s fingers clench in his leg and he pants hard when more pain makes him choke back bile. Flint slashes at Rogers’s hand, breathing hard, Silver’s sword in his hand, and Rogers cries out in surprise, falling backwards, blood dripping down his mutilated hand.

“ _You--”_

A lightning strike hits Rogers and throws him backwards, across the room, the smell of charred flesh and smoke in the air, and Silver drops the empty bolt container, hands trembling and face pale.

Flint reaches forward and pulls Silver closer, letting Silver muffle his wet gasp against his shirt.

“Silver,” he says, watching Rogers gather himself up. “I need you to hold onto me and close your eyes.”

“What--” Silver pants and swallows around his parched throat. “What are you going to do?”

“I asked you once if you knew what stars do and you didn't answer,” he murmurs, cupping the back of his neck with his palm, his other hand curled under Silver’s ruined leg, not wanting to jostle it. Silver clutches him tighter, breathing shakily. “They _shine.”_

And Flint does--like a supernova gone nuclear, light pouring out of him and over Silver’s skin like a blanket, like it did that night in the small inn bed, their bodies pressed so close it was hard to know where one ended and the other began. It makes him shiver and press closer, Flint’s heart beating strong and steady under his palm.

Rogers screams, the light shattering him into pieces until he falls like ash, and Flint sags, gripping Silver tightly.

“Fuck,” Silver says weakly, opening his eyes, his hand curled around Flint’s necklace. “I could _feel_ that.”

Flint huffs in tired amusement and presses the palm of his hand to Silver's face, staring at him with a wild look in his eyes, his thumb hooked under Silver’s jaw. Silver gazes back, taking in the freckles that dot Flint’s cheeks and nose, the ones along his temples and forehead, his leg more numb than in pain now, though he absently thinks that might be a bad sign.

Flint leans forward then pauses, breathing against Silver's mouth, until Silver closes the distance with a soft sound, fingers tightening around Flint’s necklace.

“Jesus Christ,” a voice says. “What happened to your leg?”

They break apart and Silver looks at Idelle, thoughts moving slowly and fractiously in his head. “I thought you left.”

“I wasn’t gonna _leave_ you,” she says with a huff and kneels down. "I may be a shitty mother, but I'm not a bad person." She makes an interested noise.

“What?” Flint asks, thumb rubbing soothingly along Silver’s thigh, just above his knee--which Silver is emphatically not looking at.

“It’s red,” Idelle says, amused. “The necklace.”

Flint and Silver look at it, the ruby glittering and pure under Silver’s fingers.

Idelle smiles wryly. “Congratulations, new King of Nassau.”

Silver looks at her, wide-eyed. “ _What?”_

And Flint begins to laugh.

* * *

John Silver loses the leg. It is too ruined, too destroyed from the sword wounds and the fall. He rages and screams and yells and then, afterwards, he curls up with Flint in a large, soft bed, and sleeps for a solid twenty-four hours.

After he heals, as best he can, he is crowned king, much to Flint’s delight, though his teasing expression is immediately wiped off his face when Silver makes him king consort, much to _Silver’s_ smug happiness.

It lasts a few years before Silver, in a fit of desperation, abdicates and gives the throne to Madi, which is the best decision he ever makes as king, as Madi is a kind and strong ruler with Eme at her side, leading Nassau into strong, prosperous years.

And they live in Nassau, traveling occasionally with Captain Rackham and his crew, or exploring the world neither of them have had a chance to see. They live until everyone they know is gone, and Flint, who has long since given his heart to Silver, keeping him as youthful as he’d ever been, holds out his hand and says, “It’s time.”

Silver grasps his hand, squeezing hard, and they ascend, two bright lights twinkling in the night sky until the end of time.

(When Silver finally meets Miranda, she yells at Flint for at least a century.

They do live happily ever after.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhhhhh let me know what you guys think!


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